Some nights—you'll try
the same experiment
over again, only
this time, you'll
swear it isn't
you—but the
streets
and sidewalks
that surge and
ripple under-
neath you,
causing you
to feel
either—complete-
ly dizzy,
or not quite
finished feeling it yet;
as you lumber
to heave
wet air
up
towards whatever stars
your mind likes
to suppose
are still
there, and you
cleave the dormant
and unconscious
neighbor-
hoods some more—oscillating
either
closer to
or further from
your position
of equilibrium—
which isn't
really a place, so much
as a very particular
person.
